


Oaky Tones

by enarre



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aka making your son seem "white" for better opportunities, Allusions to cultural racism, Drabble, Gen, M/M, POV Carlos, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enarre/pseuds/enarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos doesn't have an accent.  His mother had made sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oaky Tones

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently they're changing Carlos's voice, which means "Oops, let's post this before it's not relevant anymore."

He doesn’t have an accent.  His mother made sure of that ages ago when she sent him to the “good” schools. 

He doesn’t speak Spanish fluently.  As a child, he didn’t spend enough time with his abuelos to pick up the language as a whole, only enough time to pick up parts of it, holding only the words that he knew would one day mean something.  So he knows enough to whisper _mi amor_ and _quierdo_ into Cecil’s ear. 

He doesn’t celebrate the holidays that his mother does like Dia de los Muertos—hell, he barely remembers to send the family Christmas presents.  But she is happy for him, regardless of the lapses in communication.  She’s always been so happy for him, as if she was living through him.

The day that he had earned both a Ph.D and the title Dr. to his name, she said, “I am so proud of you.”  He responded with a simple “Thank you.”  He also knew that she was proud of herself, for making sure he had this opportunity.  And it shamed him to think that he’ll never know if he’d have gotten his research grant (complete with the relocation to a small desert community) if he had an accent. 

His only tie to the culture he had lost (but truthfully never really had) was his name.

Carlos.

Even that, his family had wanted to erase from him.  His mother had told him this, back when he was in high school, struggling with his Spanish classes.  His abuelo had been adamant for a “white” name, wanting to name him Carl, his abuelita wanted Paul, his father James, but it was the one thing his mother wanted him to have.  As he had flipped through the Spanish book, seeking out more than the answers to a simple worksheet, his mother said that she regretted naming his sister Linda.  That is why she called her Rosalinda.  That is why she named him Carlos.

And late at night, when he hears Cecil whisper that name to him with that voice which speaks of existential horrors and unimaginable exhilarations, he is glad for his name.  That name, the way Cecil sighs and growls it – _“Oh Carlos, perfect Carlos” –_ makes him forget everything that he could have been, but reminds him of everything that he is now.  Now Carlos is a scientist who sees horror daily and fights.  Now Carlos is a man who no longer waits passively for anything, having tasted death and regret once before underneath a bowling alley.   And now Carlos is a lover to a peculiar man who loves his every virtue and flaw and still calls him Perfect.

What little of his culture that he’s held onto with memory and teeth, he gives to Cecil with lips and tongue.

_Te quiero,_

_te amo,_

And more than his past, Carlos also gives Cecil his future.

_por siempre._

 


End file.
